Interstices
by myeerah
Summary: What's really going on inside their heads? Vignettes in and around the game. Chapter two: What lies behind that cheerful face?
1. Innocence

"You're awake," I say aloud. _Congratulations,_ I withhold.

"Where are we?" Once again I observe that the boy's none too bright.

"Prison, where else? More a dungeon, but it's really all the same." I can't say as I'm feeling all that charitable towards this ignorant urchin, so I can't help a certain surge of malicious glee when he trips over the body of some poor sod left to rot down here. Still, that's conduct unbecoming a leading man, so I offer some words of small comfort. "Relax, it's just a corpse. Jump at every little thing down here and you'll wear yourself out." _Very_ small comfort.

I cover my amusement at his expression with a yawn and continue, "It's not even a proper dungeon. They just sealed off the bottom level of the fortress. Take a look around. We're not the first they've thrown down here."

"Where's Fran?"

Finally, a question with some merit; I give it the consideration it deserves. "She's off trying to find us a way out." I don't volunteer what she said before she left, however. Fortunately, neither does he ask.

Rather, he moves as if to explore. Feeling as if I should at least offer a token attempt of common sense, I say, "Remember what curiosity killed. Just a friendly word of advice." Thinking that a boy raised in a desert clime might have a sense of practicality about him, I also wave my waterskin, saying, "This is all the water we've got. I'd save my strength if I were you." Unsurprisingly, he is undeterred.

It's not my place to tackle the boy, to hold him in safety until Fran returns with whatever word she might carry. Once again, Fran's parting words to me as she left me to my watch over the unconscious child echo in my ears. Curse her, but she's right. I can't keep the lad from mischief, I can only watch and wait, and hope sense prevails. I know from experience, though, that it very rarely does.

Sure enough, before long I hear a clamour in the halls of a foolish hume that interfered with the resident muscle and will be receiving his scheduled and just beating forthwith. Damn Fran. She was completely correct and she'll never let me live it down. Damn Fran, damn this dungeon, and damn myself for a fool.

I follow the trail of gossip. It leads to a ledge overlooking a dusty pit. The boy is curled in a heap at one side and three seeqs are advancing on him. They gabble amongst themselves as they approach, and I catch something about a stinking hume. Once more, Fran's words replay in my mind, her slight smirk scraping against my memory with all the gentleness of a sandstorm. Damn, damn, damn!

"Something stinks in here all right," someone says, and I'm only slightly surprised to discover that it is me. I eye the boy as I continue, "I've changed my mind. This is no dungeon, it's a sty."

That's it. The words have been uttered, and I'm now called upon to perform. The leading man can't back away, and so I'm trapped. All I can do is curse internally and put on the best show possible for the audience. Angry and incredulous shouts rise up, and I give the only response I can, now. I spit disdainfully, dramatically, and enunciate clearly. "I said you're the one that stinks, Hamshanks. Hear me now?"

The moment carries me, so I flow with it, vaulting down into the pit, leaping to the rescue as a leading man must do, Fran's precise tones mocking me all the while, _You would preserve Vaan's innocence?_

"You all right, Vaan?"

_I see in him much that you once were._

The boy—Vaan—nodded, bruised, but not beaten.

_Do you wish to regain your own innocence—_

_Damn you, Fran, _I growl to myself.

—_or do you wish to see, had circumstances differed, what you might have been?_

Fran's always right.


	2. Smile

My parents died in the war. That's not news to anybody. Vaan's died two years previously of plague. Neither is that. What no one ever considers is that I've spent the last four years playing mom to Vaan and Reks. "Four years?" I hear you ask. "But surely it's only two, your parents were there before then." They were alive, yes, but they weren't _here_.

Mother and Father traveled a lot on business. Mother worked hard to procure lines of trade for Migelo, and Father was constantly studying. Mother always complained that father lived with his head in the clouds, but Father would just remark that Mother had her feet grounded firmly enough for the both of them. They would share a certain smile every time they played that game. I miss that. I miss a lot of things.

I suppose I take after Mother the most. I'm always the practical one. Vaan may think that playing pickpocket to Imperial soldiers is a game to pass the time, but I'm the one that worries one of these times he just won't come home. Just like Reks.

I loved Reks. He was just like the brother I'd always wanted. He was sweet and considerate, would play with me even though he was older, and would tease me a little, but never too much. He was also completely devoted to Vaan. Losing their parents was really hard on them, and even though I was there, they always stuck by each other like no one else existed. They tried to hide it, but I could see the sadness. I also could hear them crying in their sleep some nights. I did my best to cheer them up. Sometimes I think I did it too well. No matter what horrible things are happening, I always try to keep up a cheery front for Vaan.

Most of my life has been a cheery front, really. I'd pretend that it didn't hurt for my parents to leave me with Migelo. I'd pretend that I really liked spending most of my time alone, since Migelo was always busy with his work. I'd pretend that everything was alright for Reks and Vaan, then just for Vaan. I'd pretend that I didn't mind that all the kids looked to Vaan, even though I was the one actually taking caring of them. I'd pretend that everything would be okay eventually, the Imperials would go home, and we'd all be happy again. Nobody ever really sees me. I'm just the girl with the hopeful smile, no matter what.

I've gone through years of being ignored to being kidnapped by a group of people who would have happily pulled me apart just to see what kind of noises I made. I've been rescued by a prince of the Empire I despise, fallen into the company of our supposedly dead princess and an alleged king-slayer, been flown around by a charming sky pirate and his exotic partner, and still I've been able to keep a hopeful smile.

"If you grow tired, we stop and take rest," Basch finishes.

"You don't have to worry about me," I say. "I'm tougher than I look."

The captain looks me over, with his thin, scarred face and haunted eyes, and he musters a short laugh. "You are at that."

I think he understands. I'm glad someone finally does. I offer him a smile.


End file.
